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Tuesday, May 20, 2014

TiTs!

My funeral will be held at the titty
bar. That's where I want people to remember me. I want my ashes
poured on Wendy's boobs as she gyrates and flashes her nonjudgemental
grin. Wendy is my favourite of the dancers.
Bendy Wendy they call her. The trace of scorn that is faintly
detectable in the eyes of the other girls is absent from Wendy. She
enjoys her work. She takes pride in it. Have you seen the way she
transforms herself into a spinning human pretzel? It's incredible.
It's beautiful. It's so much better than the lethargic swaying of
those who would rather be glamour modelling
or assisting a magician or working as an usher in an adult cinema.
Bendy Wendy gives me reason to rise from my bed each day and this is
why I ask that her cleavage be my final resting place. This is why I
request that her mammaries be my memorial. I can see her now, slowly
moving to the Funeral March as I am laid to rest on her generous
breasts.

Some complain that Wendy's whoppers are
'fake'. That her charm would count for nothing if she was sans
silicone but I see it a different way. I prefer the term 'enhanced'
and aren't the best things in life enhanced? Nature gives us the raw
material and we work with it, enhancing its qualities. Master chefs
enhance flavours, all Wendy has done is enhance her knockers. She has
knockout knockers. I told her as much. Just the other day, I shouted
at her, 'Wendy, you've got knockout knockers'. She seemed
complimented. Her grin broadened a little. Some of the others said
she didn't understand me. They say she doesn't even speak English.
They say that she is from a cold and bitter country and that her name
isn't even Wendy. They say that she goes backstage after every
performance and gazes at a creased photograph of a child that she
keeps amongst her personal effects. They say that she sobs. What they
say just makes me appreciate Wendy all the more. What a trouper.
Despite all her troubles she comes out dancing and gives everyone a
good time. 'You're a real trouper Wendy!' That's what I'll shout at
her tomorrow. Even if she doesn't understand me, she'll get the
sentiment. I'm a sentimental man. My send off will be similarly
sentimental. It will be the saddest day ever at the titty bar but
Wendy will be grinning because she knows that you've got to keep
smiling no matter what knocks you take. Yeah, Wendy may have taken a
few knocks but like her knockout knockers, she always comes bouncing back.

And, in a way, aren't we all
heartbroken topless dancers at the titty bar of life? And rather than
lethargically swaying and visibly wishing
we were elsewhere, shouldn't we all just grin and gyrate and make the
best of it? Gyrating and hoping that someone will slip a few bucks
into our garter to send home to little Fedor so he can save up and
one day, maybe, have enough to slip into the garter of some other
heartbroken topless dancer that reminds him of his mother and causes
a tear to come to his eye as he recalls the day she left him in the
care of his grandparents and hugged him and kissed him a final time
before walking out the door and leaving Slavingrad forever. Isn't
that the way things are?

I think that is the way things are and
that's the kind of thing I want everyone at my funeral to be thinking
as Wendy wobbles and mourners weep and the whole world spins around
again.